


Trump Temptations

by eggfishes



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Choking, Crack Treated Seriously, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Satire, Slow Burn, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27363736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggfishes/pseuds/eggfishes
Summary: “Don’t play pretend with me, Trump. You enjoyed that too,” he wheezed. He pushed Donald off him in one swift move, pressing his foot into Donald’s crotch. Donald whimpered in surprise, realizing that he had enjoyed being in control. What the fuck. Before he could think or even say something, Joe pulled him up and his old chapped lips crushed into his.A threat rises that might destroy America, and Trump and Biden have no choice but to work *closely* together to save the nation. No I am not writing this to cope with the election !!
Relationships: Joe Biden/Donald Trump, melania trump/jill biden
Comments: 40
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

“Bye dear, see you soon!” Melania briefly pecked Donald on the cheek before swiftly exiting the White House, descending the stairs 3 steps at a time and disappearing into the black limousine parked at the entrance. Donald smiled weakly, waving at the tinted window and watching it pull away. Another Saturday night. Alone. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, and, much to his distress, a whole clump fell out. 

Trudging up the stairs, he silently cursed Melania for leaving him alone with his thoughts. She had so many outside friends, none of whom liked Donald very much, so he opted to stay home when Melania went out for the night. Being the good Vice President he was, Mike had offered to take care of his duties for the night to give Donald a break after his first debate, but this left Donald without much to do. He grinned grimly at the thought of Mike, who was probably swamped in work at the moment. Maybe he should give him a visit, bring him some saltine crackers and kraft cheese. Some good white people comfort food. 

Donald entered the kitchen quietly, as not to disturb the cooks and grabbed a bottle of root beer and a packet of saltines. He galloped quickly to Mike’s office, cracking open the door. 

“D-Donald?? Is that you?” Mike’s soft voice filled the air as Donald entered the room with his larger than life presence. Papers were piled high everywhere, and it seemed a wonder that they hadn’t tipped over. A soft breeze floated in through the open window, fluttering the room occupants’ hair. 

“Hey Mike. Broughtcha some snacks. Hope you’re doing well.” Donald placed the offerings on the corner of Mike’s desk before walking around to take a look at his work. 

“Yup. Just finished making laws to ban the furries and the existence of libtards. I’m so tired of this Donald, do we really want to do this for another four years?” Mike whined needily, grabbing Donald’s large hand with his own dainty fingers. 

Donald chuckled knowingly, caressing Mike’s hand in between his own. Mike shivered at his touch, leaning in to Donald as he responded. “We need to exterminate the libsharts and the gays. You know this, we’ve been over it, Mike. The world has no place for Democunts and homos. It’s our duty.” 

Mike sighed in defeat before letting go of Donald’s hand, turning his chair back to his work. 

“Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, Biden sent an email to you a few hours ago, I forwarded it to you. It looked important.” 

If Donald noticed Mike’s faint blush, he didn’t show it. Instead he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Is that right?” he began nervously. He laughed a little before making his way to the exit. “I’ll check it out. Thanks a lot, Mike. I really appreciate it.”

“Anything for you, Donald!” Mike replied cheerily, timidly fanning his cheeks before putting his Airpods back in to listen to Grant McDonald. Donald nervously made his way back to his room, the events of the previous night running through his head. He had had a heated debate with his long standing rival, and both had been pushed to their limits attempting to bring the other down. However, that wasn’t that part that consumed his mind the most. At the end, they were required to shake hands for the camera. During this time, Joe gripped his hand very tightly and slipped him a paper. 

Donald absentmindedly rubbed his knuckles where the ghost of Joe's touch still lingered. He dug his hand into his pocket, grabbing for the paper which he had safekept in fear of the maids discovering it and reporting it to CNN. 

Scrawled in blue letters, the note read:

“Hey, ya big fart. Call me sometime, I need to talk to you. -Biden” 

And below was his personal phone number. Donald shuddered in anticipation, fearing the dementia patient. While he would never lead on to his supporters that the Libtards had any effect on him, Donald was certainly afraid of the Bitcherals. They were so gay and temptingly happy and gave Donald impure thoughts at times. But that was besides the matter at hand – the forwarded email lured his thoughts away. After struggling with his iPhone face ID for a minute, which had trouble detecting his face since he had recently spray tanned a deeper, more luxurious shade of orange, he was able to open the unread mail.

“You haven’t called? Did you lose my note? Fucking dementia patients. Anyway, text or call me when you have the chance. -Biden.”

Donald bristled indignantly at Biden’s insult of his dementia. If anyone had dementia, it would be Biden! The straight audacity of that man. Donald huffed but clicked the phone app and punched in Biden’s number. He sat nervously in his rocking chair, listening to the ringing of the phone. Donald’s hands were quickly gathering sweat. An eternity seemed to pass before Biden picked up. 

“Hello, this is Biden. Who’s calling?” came a smooth drawl. Donald almost jumped, the phone sliding a little out of his hands. He hadn’t really planned what to say next. 

“Hey you motherfucker, it’s Trump calling. What the hell do you need?” Even his own tone surprised himself, not realizing he was one to put up such an aggressive front with Biden. Biden only chuckled in response, his deep voice flooding Donald’s ears. Somehow… it wasn’t unpleasant to hear. Donald tried to relax a bit by settling in his chair.

“Oh hey Trump! You finally called. Listen, I need to talk to you about something, but it can’t be over the phone. I don’t want anyone listening in the conversation, and I can’t let the media know about this conversation.” Biden’s words spilled out quickly and with much urgency. “I was wondering if we could meet up somewhere tomorrow? Just for a quick hour, I really need to discuss this with you. It’s… important.” 

“Just spit it out, Biden. Not everyone has time to spare in their day.” Donald wasn’t going to let it slip that Mike was covering his duties for the time being. That was simply unprofessional. 

Biden ignored him. “Meet at this bar tomorrow night at 9. It’s up to you if you want to go or not. I’ll text you the address.” And with that, Biden ended the call. Donald sat, stunned by the interaction. What the fuck? His phone chimed distantly with the incoming bar address. A local bar? At his old age? Damn that shriveled man. He brushed his chin pensively, and with a sudden thought, texted his chauffeur before closing his eyes. Ariana Grande’s angelic voice drifted him into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed whatever that was! posting schedule will be irregular :)
> 
> EXTRA THANKS TO MY WONDERFUL DELICIOUS BAETA: FOOTFUNGUS


	2. Chapter 2

*next day, 8pm*

“Goddamnit Donald! What are you doing now?” Melania’s shrill voice pierced the air as she swung the door open to their grand bathroom. Donald screamed and almost dropped his towel, face scarlet from embarrassment. Melania immediately slammed her eyelids shut, not wanting to witness this terrible sight. Donald irritatedly adjusted his hair and snapped, “What? What the hell do you mean, woman? I’m taking a goddamn bath!!” 

Melania squinted her eyes open to roll them, brushing a speck of dirt off her perfect skirt. “I mean,” she clarified, “the fact that you’re going to a bar tonight.” Her voice softened. “I asked the limousine driver, and he said you had plans tonight. Is- Is something up? You almost never go out. Are you cheating on me?” Her voice wavered on the last sentence. 

At the sight of a perfect tear trickling down Melania’s cheek, Donald immediately crumbled to his knees, mouth watering. He lapped it up quickly as it fell to the floor. Aah. Nothing tastes better than the sorrow of beautiful, dirty brunette women. Grabbing her hand to help himself stand up again, he caressed her palm in slow soothing circles. He gently brushed aside a lock of hair to stare directly into her alluring eyes before responding. 

“No, Melania, you misunderstood. Biden asked me to meet there for some reason, and if I can get him drunk enough, I can kill him so I can become a dictator, like Kim Jong Un.” He sighed dreamily. “I… I need to check this out dear. I’m very sorry I can’t spend the night with you. I promise though, tomorrow! We can check out the new McDonald’s down the road.”

Melania smiled in resignation, realizing that no matter what she said, Donald would always see to his duties over her needs. The nation needed him. She was so incredibly proud. “Alright honey-bunches, don’t get too wild ok? Or else no hugs for a week.” She gave him one last smile, one without much warmth, before sauntering out of the room with a forced pep in her step. 

Donald turned back to his clothes, suddenly nervous. He hadn’t been to such a low end bar in years, or possibly ever, and he wasn’t sure what to wear. In the end, he decided on a crisp white button down (first 2 buttons unbuttoned), and plain navy slacks. He slipped on some black Doc Marten combat boots along with a beanie and Brandy Melville chain to accessorize. Just as he was considering putting eyeliner on, Mike walked into his room. 

“D-Donald! I heard you were g-going out to meet Biden.” Mike stammered, clearly nervous about something. He poked his dry fingers together like a shy girl with big boobies in an Isekai anime. 

“Yeah, I might assassinate him tonight if everything goes well,” Donald replied, cutting straight to the chase. Donald had not torn his gaze away from his small makeup collection, which was comprised mostly of spray tans and the wrong shade of concealer, and his discreet motion to slip the eyeliner away had gone unnoticed. Mike unconsciously let out a breath he had been holding. 

“Oh, okay! H-have fun, D-Donald, stay safe!” And with that, Mike departed. Donald called his butler over to check everything, and called the secret service to ensure that there would be 10 undercover guards at the bar. 

He nervously hopped in the limo at the entrance, and sent a quick text to Biden. “On my way now. This better be fucking worth my time.” Sent at 8:49pm. 

The bar was pretty close to the White House, and Donald stared forlornly out the window at the familiar paths. His stomach twisted in anticipation simply at the thought of taking a knife and stabbing it through Biden’s hot body- what? Hot? No. Donald wasn’t a homosexual. What the fuck. Biden must have placed him under some weird mind control, the same type he used to gather voters. 

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he regained his sense of his surroundings. The limo had just pulled up to the front of the bar. It seemed to be full of life, and Donald almost shook in anxiety as his butler opened the door and helped him out. 

The beanie helped disguise his give-away hair, and he entered the bar inconspicuously without anyone giving him a second look. He immediately spotted his abominable foe sitting in the corner at a booth, nursing a beer. 

The deteriorating man suddenly looked up, and dark grey eyes locked with glassy aegean blue. Donald made his way past the people on the dancefloor, tempted to take his disguise off so they would show him the respect he deserved. They had already stepped on his prim, black shoes! And he had just bought them! 

“Hey fucker,” Donald grumbled, settling into the booth opposite from Biden. He called a waitress over, and asked for two shots of vodka with cranberry juice. Biden's evident amusement didn’t escape Donald’s notice. “You got a problem with my order?” he snapped.

“No,” Biden chuckled, taking another sip of his beer. He paused, and his lips tightened into a grim line. “So you’re probably wondering why I asked you here, right?” 

Donald scoffed, glancing at Biden’s scrawny figure. He was wearing a crewneck sweatshirt and straight pants, along with some brown oxfords. Not a bad look. “No duh. So what do you want? I don’t have all night.” 

Yet again, the same lie. He’d be damned if he found himself doing real work instead of sitting at his desk playing Agma.io and admiring his new fade in the reflection of his phone screen. He brushed his fingers against the knife he hid in his pocket, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. With his other hand, he took a sip of the vodka that arrived quickly.

“Ok, so here’s the thing. You remember our good friend Hillary? You know, the female? I’ve gotten word from one of my insiders that she’s planning a rebellion. On the day of the election. She has secret members of her army all over the world, and the talk of the town is that she’s got the K-pop AND anime fans on her side, ready to lay down their lives for her. No matter who wins, she’ll assassinate us both and overthrow the American government. This will undeniably cause a civil war. We can’t let this happen.” Biden took a prolonged chug of his beer while gauging for his rival’s reaction. Donald simply sat in a stunned silence. 

“Wha-” 

“HOLY SHIT IS THAT DONALD TRUMP AND JOE BIDEN??” A man’s drunken slur overpowered the hum of the loud music, and the bar fell silent as everyone turned to look in their direction. The two candidates froze like deer caught in headlights. Biden threw his bucket hat on and seized Donald’s wrist. 

“We need to go.” In a state of shock, Donald stumbled after him, body tugged by Biden’s bony grip. He wildly looked around, heart racing. His limo was nowhere to be seen. This wasn’t good. The crowd inside the bar was beginning to chase after them – he only hoped that the undercover guards would do their job. 

What they needed now was somewhere more private to talk. He was jolted to back to his main focus – a private location would be an ideal place to murder Biden without anyone serving as a witness. He figured that he could clear up the evidence of him and Biden at the bar later. 

“Where are we going?” Donald forced the words out as Biden led him down the street. His old lungs threatened to give up on him. Biden remained silent, and Donald noted that he still hadn’t let go of his wrist even though the mob was no longer on their tails. Both of them were slightly dizzy from the alcohol – it seemed their tolerance wasn’t nearly as strong as it used to be.

They stopped at an apartment complex in a more suburban part of Washington DC, and Biden released Donald’s hand to take his keys out. Donald stood nervously to the side as Biden fumbled a bit – the cold was getting to him. He couldn’t take it anymore, watching Biden’s stupid hands struggled to use the keys.

“Give me that,” Donald growled, ripping the keys from Biden’s thin fingers, their hands brushing over one another for a brief moment in time. He shoved the key in the keyhole and turned it, and the door unlocked with a soft click. 

Biden opened the door and ushered Donald inside, checking for any paparazzi or members of the bar, but the streets were quiet and empty. He followed Donald inside and closed the door, only to be met with a large knife to his throat. 

“I’ll fucking kill you for that bullshit story. Who the fuck do you think I am?” Donald pressed the knife closer to Biden’s throat, eliciting a nervous exhale from the dementia patient. “And when I kill you, I’ll no longer have competition for this stupid election, since no one likes Kamala Harris. She’s a woman, and I HATE. Women.” 

Biden sneered, glaring at Donald, before whipping out his karate moves. He knocked the knife out of Donald’s hands before he could react and reached for the doorknob in an attempt to escape. 

“Oh NO you don’t, you fucking son of a bitch!” Donald wrestled Joe, but his movements were sluggish from the alcohol. He managed to tackle Biden to the ground and pinned him to the floor by sitting on his chest. They both sat in a momentary silence, panting heavily from exertion. 

Biden tried to sit up, but Donald’s hands immediately wrapped around his throat, cutting off his blood flow with his kinky choking. “Trump… I’m telling the truth,” he gasped for air. “Let me explain my plan to solve this.” 

Donald squeezed tighter, his heart racing. He had never killed someone using this method before, and he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right. Biden didn’t look like he was about to die, but his eyes kept rolling to the back of his head. He kept making these small pleading sounds, begging for his life. Donald shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the situation hitting him like a brick. He was about to kill an old man. Hot blood coursed through his veins.

Biden wasn’t holding up any better. He couldn’t keep it together – it had been years since anyone had held him like this. He never disclosed his kinks to Jill, so they had always had very heterosexual intercourse. Nothing beyond what was necessary to make them both finish and eventually have children. A pleased moan escaped him before he could regain his composure.

“W…What the fuck?” Trump exclaimed, “You sick fuck! You were enjoying that! You gay motherfucker!!!” At this point he had released his hands from Joe’s throat, unable to comprehend that he had been touching a homosexual. Someone he was also sitting on. That he had turned one on. Joe regained his breath and smiled weakly, rolling his head over and eyeing him from the side.

“Don’t play pretend with me, Trump. You enjoyed that too,” he wheezed. He pushed Donald off him in one swift move, pressing his foot into Donald’s crotch. Donald whimpered in surprise, realizing that he had enjoyed being in control. What the fuck. 

Before he could think or even say something, Joe pulled him up and his old chapped lips crushed into his. Donald’s brain went blank, realizing how nice it was to actually be held, wanted. He began leaning into his touch– WAIT. FUCK. THIS WAS A MAN. THIS WAS BIDEN. 

“WHAT THE FUCK??” Trump shoved Biden off him, watching the frail man tumble to the ground. “Are you that fucking drunk right now?” 

Biden wiped his mouth, smirking. He got up with the support of a nearby chair and regained his breath.

“So what if I am. This is our only option. You didn’t let me explain before; the only way to stop Hillary from turning America into a shitshow is to unite. We can’t divide this nation anymore, and it starts from us. If we divorce our wives and get together, we can unite our forces to fight Hillary. I’m not kidding. This is our only way out, and I’ve had experts run studies and evaluations of our situation.” Biden suddenly looked years younger, his tufty hair glowing a warm shade of brown under the dim light of the apartment building. Donald glared at him, at a loss for words.

“Fuck off,” he mumbled weakly, before rushing out the room. Joe didn’t stop him, and the door slammed shut, leaving him alone in the quiet building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> longest chapter yet, hope you enjoyed this mess :) 
> 
> again thx to the beta footfungus <3


	3. Chapter 3

“Dad? Are you okay?” Barron stood nervously at the doorway, peering at his father who was currently on his 9th beer of the day and splayed out on the couch. He slowly entered the room to poke the 45th president in the arm, trying to get him to wake up. 

“I’m fine, Bare-Bear,” Donald responded, his eyes still closed. God, the things he would give to forget last night’s events. He was ready to drown in booze, would replace Amy Coney Barrett with a Democrat, would sell his wife… anything to forget the feel of Biden’s lips against his own. 

Trying to distract his mind from Biden’s preposterous proposition, he propped himself up and turned to Barron. “What have you been up to?” 

Barron took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. Melania had asked him to check up on his father and try to make him feel better since Donald was acting very distant, but Barron had never particularly enjoyed being in his father’s presence. 

He shrugged, mildly uncomfortable, and replied, “I started watching a new show recently. It’s pretty good, and I watch it after I finish all my homework.” 

Donald’s eyebrows raised. He hadn’t had time to watch much, and he definitely hadn’t spent a lot of time with Barron either. An idea hit him like a rock aimed in his direction, thrown by a dumb liberal. “What’s it called? Let’s watch some together!” Donald smiled at his son, proud of his American ways of using the television. 

Barron’s eyes lit up like stars, and Donald’s heart tightened at the wholesome sight. “Naruto! I’m only a few episodes in, but my friends recommended it to me and I like it a lot.” 

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Turn on the TV!” He quickly cleaned off the coffee table and recycled the beer bottles, like the environmentally conscious person he is. As he cleaned, Barron carefully logged into Netflix using the 100 inch screen TV in Donald’s living room and called in a maid to bring some popcorn for them. A large, buff man wearing a frilly maid costume entered with two large buckets of popcorn. 

Donald turned his head slowly to eye his son, who was accepting the buckets without concern. “Barron… why is the maid... a man....dressed…” he began. Barron’s face reddened, ignoring his father’s concerned question. 

(Donald would later find out that he did not know his son in the slightest. Particularly some of his eccentricities.) 

“I’m on episode 3!” Barron informed him, as Donald hesitantly took a seat, still eyeing the door that the maid exited through. He brushed it aside and turned his focus to the show that was being put on. It was fairly interesting, actually. 

Donald found himself enjoying the loud and rambunctious personality of the main character. He was blond and blue eyed, clearly white: nice. Weird name though, Naruto? How creative and unique, almost like Nathan. 

His pleasant mood quickly drained as Donald witnessed Naruto and Sasuke accidentally lock lips. 

Suddenly, Donald was reminded of the burning kiss he shared with Biden the previous night, everything he had fought to forget. The feeling of Biden’s frail fingers curled around his wrist, his warm throat beneath his orange meaty fingers, the feeling of complete control over Biden’s life.

He quickly stood up, deaf to Barron’s crying laughter of the ridiculous situation on the TV. Donald excused himself to the restroom and splashed cold water on his face to calm his racing heart. 

“Fuck this shit,” Trump muttered, taking out his phone. He struggled for a hot minute – the phone was trapped beneath his sweaty flabs. He quickly opened his messages with shaky hands, dreadfully realizing that Biden had sent him quite a few messages since their last encounter. 

Yesterday, 10:38pm: I hope you got home safe. I’m serious about this, Trump. It’s for the soul of our nation.

Today, 8:24am: Good morning, Trump. Hope you’re doing well. I know it was a lot to take in. Let me know how you are, and how you want to proceed. America’s fate rests in our hands. 

Donald’s brow furrowed. Yeah, if he was talking about those cold, bony hands, he might as well just give up on the country. Luckily he was there to support America with his fleshy palms and sausage fingers. He tapped out a text (with said reliable fingers). 

“I fucking hate your guts, but we need to talk. There’s been a lot to think about.” 

Donald’s phone chimed with a notification just as he set it down. Biden’s message read, “Great to hear. Can I come over in 10 minutes?” 

Donald put a hand to his forehead and let out a small groan, replying that it was fine and alerting the security guard. Damn, Biden was close by, and he looked like shit right now. Fuck it if everyone saw him in correspondence with Biden. Nothing mattered anymore if Hillary was on the move again. Not that mere women could pose a threat to him… but he would rather have Biden by his side. 

He composed himself and rearranged his hair, walking to his office just in time to greet the newcomer. Biden entered the room with an air of dignity and thanked the guard, who gave both of them a tense nod before closing the door behind him. Surely, this would be the gossip of the housekeepers, security, and other employees of the White House, but Donald couldn’t care less right now. 

Biden stood at his doorway, his expression unreadable. He was dressed in a baby blue button down, with aviator sunglasses clipped to his shirt pocket. His trousers were a dark purple, and he wore casual white Vans. This was in stark contrast to Donald, who wore a ratty T-shirt, crinkled beach shorts and was barefoot. Well, at least his toenails gleamed a pretty gold. 

“Biden.” Donald began, somewhat breathlessly. Had he always had this intense of a gaze? Biden walked close enough for Donald to smell his cologne, and he could feel the aura of calm from the other man. Fuck. He was ready to straight up reject him and tell him to go to hell… but something had changed. 

Donald was already seventy-something years old – he couldn’t remember exactly – so who really cared about what happened in his last few years of life? His death was nearing, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, and he didn’t want to live a fake life full of regrets. 

He took a small breath and cleared his throat. “I accept your offer. Let’s save America.”

Biden’s smile would have sent chills down the devil’s spine.


	4. Chapter 4

“Where the hell are we going?” Donald grumbled, as he plopped his large body into the passenger seat of Joe’s classy convertible. He nervously adjusted the red baseball cap on his head – he had opted to wear a plainer one so as to not draw too much attention to his identity.

“You’ll see,” Biden laughed, clapping Donald on the shoulder as the latter struggled to buckle his seatbelt. His touch startled Donald, and his body reflexively shied slightly away. Joe pretended not to notice. 

They drove in a somewhat awkward silence, cruising through the unmemorable streets of the capital city. Donald was embarrassed to admit that he was jealous of Biden’s ability to drive, as his own skill had long deteriorated. 

After around 20 minutes, they pulled up in front of a plain building with the words “D.C. Aquarium” presented in big, blocky letters above the murky glass double doors. Donald timidly got out of the car, noting the cool coastal breeze brushing his face. 

It appeared that the aquarium was just a few blocks down from the beach. He begrudgingly lagged a few steps behind Biden as they entered the building.

“I had one of my employees buy tickets online, so we wouldn’t have to wait. Lesser chance of people recognizing us here, right?” Joe’s warm voice filled the silence easily as he took his sunglasses off. 

Donald didn’t reply, unable to think of something interesting to respond with. His nerves prickled with unease and adrenaline pumped through his body. 

“Welcome to DC Aquarium! Do you have tickets?” The girl working at the front was young – maybe high school aged (just how he likes ‘em) – and she still had the naive optimism of someone not yet destroyed by the prosaic 9-5 work hours of customer service.

Trump could tell because her eyes still had a shine very unlike that of her dull coworker. If he had to give a good comparison, he would say it was uncannily akin to… the glassy eyes of his fake date. 

“Yes ma’am,” Joe smiled, pulling the tickets out of his back pocket. The girl scanned them before handing them back, glancing up. She stopped, frozen, staring at the odd duo. 

“A-Are you Joe Biden? What are you doing with President Trump?” she stammered, shakily passing the tickets back. Donald’s legs tensed, ready to flee back to the car and contact the secret service to protect his large, important but vulnerable body. This was so stupid. He shouldn’t have done something like this- His thoughts came to a stop when Joe rested a gentle hand on his lower back.

“Don’t worry about it, dear. You don’t need to tell everyone about it; soon you’ll know why.” And with that, Donald was ushered by Biden into the building, still somewhat flustered by the sudden contact. 

GOD! His spine was tingling from Biden’s dexterous fingers. They heard the girl wishing them a good visit at the aquarium, her voice still shaky from the shock of seeing the nation’s two presidential candidates. 

“Smooth talker, huh?” Donald muttered, pulling his hat down like Jotaro Kujo, now having regained his train of thought. Biden laughed again. God, that bastard was always laughing! Why was he so goddamn happy and why did his contagious laughs cause his chest to swell? 

(Donald glanced down at his swollen chest.)

“Let’s go. What do you want to see first?” Donald grabbed a map and stared at the selection of exhibits. The aquarium had everything from starfish to octopi and even sharks. Suddenly Biden leaned in, and Donald’s mind went blank for the second time that day. 

Donald kept his eyes trained on the paper, trying to avoid thinking about Biden and instead carefully deciding between the freshwater fish and the starfish section. God, he could smell his expensive fucking cologne – could the idiot get any closer? 

“I want to see the starfish…” Donald’s words trailed off as he looked up from the map, only to see that Biden had been carefully studying his face when he wasn’t looking. Instinctively, his eyes flitted to Biden’s lips, and he sat there frozen by some invisible force. Was Joe leaning forward? Donald began to close his eyes and pursed his lips instinctively. 

When a moment passed, and the air around his lips was still bitingly cold – devoid of the warm radiation from another human body – he squinted his eyes open. Biden had pried the map away from his hands without him realizing it and was studying it intently. He too seemed rather perplexed at the advanced vocabulary used in the pamphlet. Donald rubbed at the tense spot that had formed in his shoulders. Had he just imagined that?

Biden glanced up. “Seems you know where to go. Lead the way, Donnie Boy!” Donald scowled at the nickname and cursed himself for his prior reaction, but begrudgingly pointed the directions to go to the starfish tank. 

Biden stayed near him the entire way, making small comments about the fish they passed. Oddly enough, Donald wasn’t as perturbed as one would imagine, but he kept his lips pressed tightly together. Was Biden always like this? Surely a presidential candidate shouldn’t be having this pleasant of a time. 

They arrived at the starfish petting exhibit easily, as the aquarium was rather empty on this Saturday morning. A bored, ratty looking teen with the face of Linguini from Ratatouille was supervising. Glazing briefly at the two, he stuck in his Airpods and muttered something about there being “two old geezers”. Donald and Biden dismissed it as their deteriorating hearing.

“Is it actually safe to pet the starfish?” Joe began, glancing at the boy and leaning slightly against the barrier. Damn. Donald thought to himself, before mentally slapping the thought away. No, Joe was far from good looking. He was shriveled, old, and rather emaciated. It made him wonder if Jill’s cooking was up to par. Maybe he should cook something up for Joe once in a while. (His mind drifted to his go-to white people comfort snacks.)

The boy didn’t tear his eyes from his phone. “Yup. Just remember to touch with two fingers, and be gentle.” There was a beat of silence, filled only with the sound of a shrill anime girl shriek blasting through the boy’s Airpods.

“You go first, Trump, you were the one who wanted to come here.” Maybe Donald was imagining it, but there was a quiver to Biden’s tone. His grin cracked onto his face. 

“D-Don’t tell me...you’re scared…?” Donald was struggling to maintain composure at this point. Finally, something substantial to tweet about! His Twitter had been looking a little naked lately. He was thinking about sending a customer service appeal to turn the Twitter icon red, because he thought it was obnoxiously biased of Twitter to be so blue. This would surely stir things up and perhaps gain him a couple red voters. Donald screamed like a hyena in laughter.

“I’m not! Just do it without me, I got a cut on my finger and I don’t want to infect it.” Biden turned his head in mock disgust at Donald’s implication. 

Shaking his head, Donald rolled his sleeves up and felt up the starfish. The starfish seemed to shrink away from his touch.

A snort from Biden’s direction took Donald’s attention away from trying to gain the starfish’s consent. “How could you possibly be president if even the most basic creatures don’t like you!?” 

Somehow Biden had grabbed Donald’s phone and was currently using it to record him. He had captured a particularly embarrassing photo of Donald’s disappointed face when the starfish had shied away. He looked fucking ridiculous. 

“BIDEN WHAT THE FUCK!” Donald tore his hands out of the tank, launching a smelly wave of seastar water at the boy immersed in his ecchi anime. Biden’s bony fingers scurried rapidly on the screen as Donald tried to wrestle the phone out of his grasp. 

“Ok fine, fine I’m done,” Biden passed the phone back to Donald, who checked for what Biden had been doing. His heart sank like the titanic when he saw that wretched little Twitter app shrinking as Biden exited out of it. He stabbed his fat sausage of a middle finger onto the blue button to pull up the tweet. 

It was a picture of his glorious orange face and the starfish, captioned, “Aquarium date today! We’re really about to make America great again. See you, my girls and gays! ~JB”

“You fucking nutbag, has the dementia damaged your brain that much? The paps are gonna figure out where I am just from the background. I have to leave now.” He flicked the murky water from his fingers in disgust and shoved the frail white man aside. 

Biden's face fell slightly, but he recovered as he fell in stride beside him. “Whatever Donald, try to live a little. Let’s go then.” 

He tugged on Donald’s sleeve as they ran hurriedly out the exit, only to see a man watching them intently from his parked car. He suddenly whipped out a gigantic camera, and it was so big that Donald almost thought it was a telescope. There was the sound of a shutter, and time seemed to stop – Biden’s hand was still curled around Donald’s sleeve. 

The noise shocked them out of their frozen state, and both old men made a wild dash to Biden’s convertible. They jumped in, knees almost buckling, and Biden quickly rolled the hardtop back up before speeding away. Donald’s heart continued to hammer in his chest, and it continued to do so long after they lost sight of the first paparazzi member. 

“I think this was a bad idea. I think we should just stop trying to do… whatever this is leading to.” 

Biden stared straight ahead at the road, not showing any visible reaction to Donald’s words of defeat. His aviator sunglasses hid his grim expression well. 

“Donald… I know it’s hard to accept the publicity, but we have to realize that this was our original intent. We can’t give up. We can’t give… this up.”

Donald didn’t reply, opting to stare out the window. Sure, Biden didn’t seem like such a bad person, but...there was so much he had to sacrifice, despite the relationship being fake. What would Melania think? What about Barron? What about his homophobic countryside men?

Before he knew it, the convertible had arrived back at the White House, and Donald muttered a brief thanks before turning to open his car door. Lithe fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist, and Donald spun his girthy neck around in shock. 

Biden’s lips briefly met Donald’s wrinkly cheek and Donald felt his face flush a deeper shade of gold. Biden’s hand found their way down to his, and their fingers locked for a brief moment. 

“We’ll get through this, you know. It’s for America.” 

Donald nodded again, blood pulsing through his body. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his chest as he watched Biden pull out the front gates. For America.

“Donald! Where have you been?” Melania’s worried voice broke Donald’s train of thought. He whipped around, seeing his gorjus waifu standing at the front of the White House steps, wearing a beautiful floral dress and a floppy sun hat. 

“I-” Donald began, trying to explain the situation, but Melania interrupted. 

“I saw your tweet!” Donald’s heart fell- he had forgotten to delete Biden’s tweet in his panic to leave the aquarium. 

“Who were you with? Are you seeing someone behind my back? And the AUDACITY to post about it- I was crazy to think you loved me. You never put time aside for me anymore, and I’m sick of it, Donald! I’m disgusted❗️” Melania was on the verge of tears, and upon seeing the tears, Donald was momentarily thirsty. He swallowed some saliva to satiate himself. 

“Babe, I can explain-” Donald tried once again to defend himself but Melania screamed in frustration and threw her Chanel purse in his face. He almost lost balance and suddenly Melania was entering one of the limos in the front. 

“Where are you going? This is your home!” Donald called out, desperate to make himself heard. He needed her now more than ever; her comforting female scent would calm his thoughts about Biden. 

“I can’t take it anymore. I’m going away for a few days.” Melania rolled the tinted windows up before the limo sped away. Donald wondered who was driving it. Was there always a driver waiting? Did 20 pairs of eyes watch him when he pulled his lumpy body out of the car every time he came back from a trip?

Donald was left standing alone on the steps of the White House. It began to rain and the thoughts of Melania washed away like the grime from the steps of the White House. He took his phone out of his pocket, heart in pain of the desire he felt. 

Suddenly, he could think of nothing but Joe’s lips pressed chastely against his cheek, and of the less than holy kiss they shared back at his apartment.

Joe. Come back. I need to talk to you. Please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the newest chapter!! 
> 
> shoutout to footfungus, she a real one frfr


	5. Chapter 5

“Where are you headed, Mrs. Trump?” the chauffeur pretended not to have heard the previous argument out of courtesy. She also wanted to keep her mad luxurious job. 

Melania stared forlornly out the window, realizing she had never really explored the city or understood the perspective of an everyday citizen.

Did they dust their own boots after a trip through the city? Did they hang their own coats and top hats? Did they own a trampoline? She didn’t know. After all, she lived such a lavish life with Sugar Daddy Donald.

“Here is fine,” she decided, the edge of her lips quirking up. The chauffeur raised her eyebrows in question but remained silent, pulling into a spot for street parking. Melania gracefully exited the car and looked up at the shitty apartments. Perfect.

“Just give us a call when you want to be picked up, ma’am.” The limousine pulled away. 

The reality of her situation suddenly hit Melania the same way the brick hit Donald when he was a baby. She began to cry openly, tears puddling onto the dirty concrete, ignoring incredulous stares from passersby. 

Her knees gave out from under her as PAIN overtook every other emotion. Her Burberry napkins could not hold all the tears she was producing. 

The door of the apartment Melania was crouched (like a dog) in front of suddenly opened. 

“Okay dear, that’s fine. See you tomorrow.” The well-dressed lady on the phone adjusted her phone and wallet before glancing up, only to be faced with Dying Melania on the cracked pavement.

“Ma’am! Are you okay? What happened?” The lady rushed down the steps to kneel beside Melania. Melania wiped her blurry tears to meet the comforting eyes of Jill Biden. So shiny and full of hope, like Beyonce. 

“J-Jill?” She stammered, surprised by her sudden appearance and the worry in her face. 

Jill’s face betrayed her bewilderment, her eyes widening slightly before trying to get Melania to her feet, her motherly instinct taking over. She brushed Melania’s dirty brown hair out of her face and helped her up.

“Come in dear, let’s get you some tea.” 

\--------

Melania sat in Jill’s living room, bundled up in a cozy blanket and watching the news in a daze. She took a careful sip of her honey green tea as Jill made her own cup. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Jill walked over, settling in an armchair beside Melania, who took note of her delicate hands curled around her mug. Her nails were weirdly chipped, like she was trying to rub the patterned polish off. Melania could have sworn they spelled “JOE BIDEN” before when she had spotted her at the debate. 

“I...I guess so. Don- No, Trump just hasn’t been present lately, and I feel like I give so much to our relationship without getting anything in return. Not even the bare minimum. I- just… I don’t feel loved anymore, ” Melania’s words tumbled out. 

Well, this rather shocked her. She hadn’t planned on revealing anything, but there was just something about the presence of the other woman that calmed her nerves. Anyway, she literally had nothing to lose besides Barron. 

Jill was so comforting to be around, with her soft, understanding eyes and gentle voice. She had aged with grace as well, and she looked so calm drinking her tea. 

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry to hear. To be frank, Joe and I have also been going through something similar… We were supposed to go for dinner tonight but he cancelled. ‘Work,’ he says, but I feel like that’s not the case.” 

Jill stared down at her mug, face hidden in the shadows like a broodingly sexy character with a tragic backstory. (see: sasuke, kurapika, todoroki, etc) 

Melania was taken aback by Jill’s biting tone. Her heart almost melted for the older woman, and she felt compelled by the spirit of Christ to reach out and hold her hand to show support. Her fingers lengthened to close the space between them.

“Men suck,” Melania replied weakly, feeling her stomach turn at the thought of Donald. She turned to the TV, as there was a slight lull in the conversation. 

“President Trump’s recent tweet has sparked new controversy and memes making fun of his face. Many citizens are wondering who this ‘JB’ could be, and it seems that Mr. Trump went to the aquarium with someone. Rumors of an affair are flying around, and people are wildly speculating, joking the mystery person could be Justin Bieber to the Jonas Brothers, or even presidential candidate Joe Biden. Wouldn’t that be another crazy 2020 event? Back to you, Steve.” 

“Actually, Linda, it seems that we have information from a confirmed source! It was JOE BIDEN, the 2020 Democratic nominee, and we have photographed proof!” 

A crystal clear picture of Joe tugging on Donald’s sleeve in front of the aquarium was then shown on the television, for all of America to see.

“Well, Steve, this is certainly surprising! What do you think they were up to? This is-” 

Jill turned off the television, stunned, and locked eyes with Melania. No fucking way. No goddamn way. Fake news. But they both knew in their hearts what was actually happening. They didn’t need it spelled out for them. 

Jill abruptly stood up, placing her cup on the coffee table, and turned to her guest with a renewed smile.

“Stay for as long as you’d like, Melania; I’ll leave you alone now. Just holler if you need anything, alright?” Melania nodded dazedly as Jill left the cozy living room, taking her comforting warmth with her.

The news announcement (which felt more like celebrity gossip, except these were NOT CELEBRITIES, THESE WERE THE PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES) refused to leave Melania’s mind. She groaned and curled inward on herself, deciding to take a nap on the couch in a very cat-like manner. Meow-lania. Purr queen. 

She dozed off, dispelling her heavy thoughts. 

“Hey Melania, do you want to come along to the bookstore with me? I was on my way earlier, I wanted to pick something up.” Melania startled awake at the sound of Jill’s voice as she entered the room, holding up a bag. 

“Of course! Let’s go.” She stood up and stretched before following Jill out the front door. The bookstore, as it turned out, was just a few blocks from Jill’s apartment. It was a small shop, Jill had explained, owned by a single middle aged lady named Sharon who was friends with Jill back in college. 

“Hey, Jill!” Sharon lit up as Jill entered the quaint bookstore, Melania a few steps behind her. Her expression changed drastically when she spotted Melania. 

“Brought a friend huh?” Melania detected a rather bitter tone in Sharon’s voice. Jill smiled without warmth, nodding wordlessly as she scanned the books. 

Melania wandered around aimlessly, not one to do much reading. After all, she had her juicy little tablet to flip through, or her 100 inch flatscreen HD Retina xD widescreen 4K resolution xP Display television to cure her boredom. 

However, she did enjoy some of the physical copies of Japanese manga and comics that Barron sometimes recommended and lended her. She felt like a little old-fashioned angel, running her thumb across the cute tinted papers and feeling up the paperback spine of the comics.

“Who are you, and why are you with Jill?” A voice hissed, and Melania turned her smooth body around to meet Sharon’s sharp pale blue eyes framed by rhinestone glasses. She looked like a stereotypical librarian. 

Melania’s dainty hands curled into fists, sensing an air of conflict. Her mind rushed through multiple scenarios. If they fought, she would have an advantage because of her 13 inch sexy stilettos, which set her an approximate 17 inches taller than the other woman and 15 pounds heavier. But if the other woman attempted a roundhouse kick, she might just topple over like a bowling pin. 

That would be most undesirable. 

“I’m just visiting,” Melania replied calmly, not wanting to give away too much information. Sharon didn’t appear to realize her identity. She abruptly pinned Melania’s wrists to the shelves behind her at lightning speed, and a knife began to slide out of her throat (kept there for safekeeping, for surprise attacks, or for freeing herself if she were ever tied up and bound to a metal chair). 

“SHARON!” Jill’s thunderous voice clapped the air’s cheeks, and Melania was still in shock. Sharon froze, took a few steps back, and fell to her hands and knees. Her knife slid out of her throat and clattered on the ground, all slimy.

“Jill I’m so so sorry I don’t know what came over me-” Sharon couldn’t stop blubbering apologies and excuses as Jill sighed defeatedly. 

“Sharon, we’re done. You need to realize that. You can’t keep doing this. Let’s go Melania, I’m sorry for all this trouble.” Jill left without her book, and after taking one last glance at Sharon’s broken form on the floor, Melania followed in suit. 

The walk back to Jill’s apartment was charged with awkward tension, and Melania was itching to know what the fuck just happened. Jill unlocked the door with deft hands and Melania couldn’t help but stare at the perfect long fingers. They quickly entered the building to avoid the chill that came with the setting sun. 

“I’m so sorry, again, about that,” Jill began, and out of habit, started boiling water for tea. 

“It’s really alright,” Melania responded, slightly curious about their past. As if Jill had read her mind, she explained. 

“Back in college, Sharon and I...well you know, it was the 70s, and we fooled around a bit. We knew it wouldn’t last, and with me getting into committed relationships with men...that hurt her. We drifted, but I recently connected with her again. Just as friends though,” Jill added the last part quickly. 

“But I guess she still has feelings for me… seeing she got jealous seeing me with you. She should know better though, I’ve been Joe’s wife for a long time.” 

Melania couldn’t focus on the rest of Jill’s words, her face growing slightly warm from the idea of someone assuming they were together. In that way. And finding out Jill was into women was, needless to say, interesting. 

“I understand. Something similar has happened to me.” Jill quirked her eyebrows expectantly, but Melania failed to elaborate. 

“I think I’d better go now – it’s getting late. I need to have a talk with Donald. Good luck with Joe, and thank you so much for your hospitality. I really appreciate it, Jill.” Melania gathered her items and prepared to call her chauffeur. 

Jill gave her a warm (and breathtaking) smile. “Come back any time, Melania, I’m serious” she chirped. She hugged Melania tightly, and Melania felt her big, voluptuous boobies pressed against her own. The hug lasted longer than Melania expected, but it was nice to feel a human’s touch. 

“Thank you again, Jill.” Melania stepped out of the door to see her driver waiting for her. She hopped in and waved goodbye to her new friend, smiling to herself.

Even as they entered the gates of the White House, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Jill’s touch lingered in her mind. Donald was nowhere to be found, and she had wanted to have a serious conversation with him. The hours ticked away, and in the absence of the president, she ate dinner alone with Barron. 

When she entered the room she shared with Donald, she realized that her husband would not be sharing the bed with her that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait! chapter updates will be irregular but I promise I'll finish this. I have everything planned out. hope you enjoy!!
> 
> thx to footfungus for editing


	6. Chapter 6

“Y-you doin’ alright there, pal?” Mike settled nervously beside Donald, putting an emphasis on the word pal. His hand reached tentatively to grab Donald’s knee comfortingly, to which Donald gently intercepted and set it aside. Mike pretended not to notice, like he always did. 

“I guess so,” Donald sighed, trying to ignore the twinge of annoyance he felt at Mike’s presence. He needed an excuse to get Mike away before Biden came over. Mike was always so… affectionate around him, and Donald questioned how much Mike really hated the gays when he was acting like… you know… Donald did a limp wrist to prove his point. 

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, alright? I’m YOUR vice president. They made us swear to sacrifice our lives for the president, you know?” Mike smiled charmingly, flashing his yellow teeth. 

Donald simply nodded, trying to think of something that would drive the clingy man away. Perhaps if he tried to kiss him? Mike was clearly homophobic. Donald half heartedly began to purse his lips as a knock on the door interrupted him. 

“Hey Donald, you called?” Joe’s calm and smooth voice floated through the air, and Donald froze. Mike was staring with unguarded hostility at the presidential candidate (Who won in the canon universe! Nice one, Joe). Mike stood up. 

“What the fuck is he doing here? Donald? Why would you call him over? He’s our sworn enemy,” Mike snarled, and his facade of being a cute anime girl dissolved immediately, now transforming into 125 pounds of unadulterated hatred and possessive instinct. 

Mike dropped to all fours, saliva dripping out of his foaming mouth as he began to prowl protectively around Donald’s feet, hissing as Biden tried to take a step closer. 

“Calm down, Mike,” Donald patted his white hair absentmindedly, standing up to meet Biden’s eyes. “I have official business with him. I’ll debrief you later.” 

Mike growled in frustration, clawing at Donald’s expensive pants with blunt fingernails before giving up, cat ear headband flopping as he crawled out of the room. Donald followed up to the doorway, locking the door in his exit. 

Biden was holding his laughter in, to which Donald thought he looked very cute doing so. 

“What?” Donald decided to ask the man currently clutching his stomach, trying to stifle his giggles. He tried to squish the butterflies in his stomach at the adorable sight. He needed to remember his homophobic training. 

“Pence is a catboy?? I hear they’re all the trend,” Biden’s laughs finally died down and he smiled. 

“Anyway, what did you need? Did you miss me?” he waggled his dusty untrimmed eyebrows for good measure, but his playful expression wilted at the sight of Donald looking aside, slightly uncomfortable. 

“Yeah… can we go to your place or something? I don’t really feel like talking here with Pence right around the corner. I don’t know what he’s been eating.” Donald mumbled, keeping his voice low. 

Biden wondered if he should get his earwax removed. (But he decided against it, because he had been saving up for approximately 2.4 years already and the golden nuggets nestled in his auditory canal were something he held rather dear to him.)

“Sure, I drove here so I’ll take you.” Donald followed Biden out of the other exit, knowing that Mike would be dutifully guarding the main one. It typically took a few hours for Mike to revert back to normal, and he hoped one of the maids or butlers was taking care of his issues. 

As they navigated the winding halls of the White House, Mike’s growling growing fainter, Biden’s swinging hand caught Donald’s attention. He had to actively push away the instinct to reach out and hold it. It looked so tender, like a cooked chicken, or a baby’s butt.

Biden opened the passenger seat door with a little mock bow, earning a slight scowl from Donald. However, his stupid, stupid nervous system betrayed him, since his face flushed slightly. God, he just wanted to punch Biden’s dumb face. And not kiss it. NOT kiss it. 

As they took off, strong gusts of wind battered Donald’s face and whipped his fake hair up in funny tufts from the exposed roof of the convertible. He heard a faint rip and his hand reflexively shot up to control his wig. Maybe this was a mistake. 

He glanced over at Biden, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows to expose a line of toned muscle and a more intense patch of age spots, driving cooly with one arm on the wheel. Donald quickly averted his gaze and focused on the road. 

The car finally came to a stop in front of a familiar apartment; it was the same one they went to after their first meeting at the bar. As Donald stepped out, his knees felt almost jiggly as adrenaline filled his body. 

“Is Jill home?” Donald found himself trying to fill the silence as Joe struggled with the keys again. He pushed away the frustration directed at the other man, knowing that there was no rush this time. Or perhaps that was just an excuse.

“No,” Biden replied, and a click sounded to signal the door unlocking. “We’re sort of… in a bit of a rough spot, so she’s staying at one of the other apartments.” 

Donald winced in sympathy, realizing that this was his exact issue. By the way, where was Melania right now? Was she shivering on the cold D.C streets, whispering his name as her wallet slowly drained? Eh. He stepped in after Biden and locked the door behind him. With his mind clear and the lights fully on, he saw that it was quite a nice apartment. Almost homey.

He trailed after Biden towards the kitchen, peering into rooms as he passed by. He squinted at one in particular. A sprawling king sized bed with… holy shit. No way. Were those… 

“Handcuffs?” Donald found himself mumbling. Were there prisoners here? Were they on the loose??

“Did you say something?” Biden asked, opening the fridge. Donald shook his head quickly, majestic locks of artificial platinum blond hair flowing in the air conditioned environment. 

“Thought I heard something.” Biden once again pondered getting his earwax removed. “Want something to drink?” He pulled out a few beers, holding them up. Donald nodded, suddenly feeling slightly out of place. The reality of his situation was hitting him: he was finally in a private setting with Biden. 

“Sure,” Donald replied unsurely, his hand lingering on Biden’s as he accepted the bottle. It was so cheap, Donald just KNEW that some unpaid child slave made it in China. 

“I need something stronger. Pure whiskey.” 

Biden rolled his eyes so hard that they flopped to the floor. He poured Donald his drink and sat next to him on the couch. 

“What did you need Donald? Are you doing okay?” Joe gazed intently at Donald’s face, studying every deep orange wrinkle and cancerous skin cell. His heart fluttered in excitement as Donald opened his butthole-shaped lips to reply. Oh, god, how he wanted to just kiss him to shut him up. But that would come later. 

“I just...things are so rocky with Melania I really don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to break it off and I don’t know if I want to be with you either.” Donald sighed, letting the floating sensation of alcohol loosen his tongue. He was already starting to feel its effects. 

“If you’re unsure...maybe this will help you make up your mind,” Joe whispered, his face mere inches from Donald’s own. He leaned in and Donald closed his orange eyelids in anticipation.

Then, soft lips pressed into his, and Donald felt the TRUE meaning of romance. He felt angel wings sprouting from his shoulder blades. Ah, this feeling. He would do anything for this man.

Joe breathed softly and began to climb on top of Donald’s heaving body, straddling him while maintaining their kiss. 

Donald moaned. 

“Are you sure? So we’re doing this?”

“Yeah we are. I need you.” 

“I need you too. I love you.”

The last thing Donald felt before passing out was a hand between his legs and lips crushed against his, his cock rock solid from a manly desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but I haven't abandoned this fic I promise
> 
> as usual beta was footfungus


	7. Chapter 7

Rays of sunlight punched Donald straight in the face, amplifying his headache like when too much Harry Styles was played on the radio. He rolled his large body around to check his alarm clock before realizing this was not his bed. His own sheets were much scratchier, despite it being the product of the one and only White House. 

Panic set in and he shot up, straight as a white girl at a football game. Joe was not in the bed with him, but he probably was pretty recently, as Donald could still feel warmth on the sheets beside him. 

“What. the fuck.” he whispered. He looked down and saw that he was only wearing his MAGA boxers, which were a size too small because it had been laundry day. His little cock was visible through the tight red polyester. He stood up in a daze, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. 

The last thing he remembered was Joe staring at him with those soulful blue eyes as he spilled his troubles with Melania. No way. Did they sleep together? 

Donald’s hand flew like a bird to his asshole, pressing and searching for signs of tenderness or pain. He hadn’t been fucked by Joe, but did he fuck Joe? Since when did Biden become Joe? 

A loud bang shook Donald out of his thoughts, and he realized too late that he still had not found his clothes when the door to the bedroom flung open. 

Behind it, Joe stood there in a plain blue apron (of course it was blue, baby blue in fact), holding a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee and some pancakes. He stood tall, drinking in the almost grotesque sight of Donald’s lumpy figure. 

The tray was set down on the bed, and Donald was still frozen like a confederate general statue in the south. A large dominant hand smacked his ass, the sound reverberating through the room. 

“Damn baby you’re hella caked up!” Joe roared. Donald moaned into the touch; he couldn’t help it, when the bang of a gunshot silenced the room. 

A sharp pain blossomed in Donald’s juicy ass as he realized he’d been shot. 

“GET DOWN GET DOWN, THERES A SNIPER ON ME ON ME,” Joe screamed frantically, ushering Donald into the bathroom and squeezing a palmful of Trump’s Dumptruck.

Donald collapsed pitifully onto the bathroom floor, blood slowly coating the marble tile. His shaky hands reached for Joe’s collar, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. 

“Joe….I’m not gonna make it….but I love you baby I really do I’m so sorry...I’m not strong enough,” Donald almost cried, but he had to stay strong for Joe’s sake. 

Joe didn’t reply, his face emotionless as a stone. Stone Joe. It seemed for a moment that it was about to crack and break down, when it twisted into a wicked smile, his fangs popping out and gleaming in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. 

Donald’s wild eyes flitted to the painting of a full moon attached curiously to the bathroom ceiling, then back to the shuddering Joe. Furs suddenly began to sprout out of Joe’s neck, his dainty shoulders, his legs, his ass.. 

Joe let out a rattled “awoo”. He ruffled his pelt and turned his attention back to the weakening Donald.

“This was the plan all along, Donald- I ordered that sniper,” Joe whispered into Donald’s ear, voice laced with venom. He dexterously whipped out a Japanese katana with his hands(-turning paws) and sliced Donald’s flabs straight off. They fell to the floor, looking like slices of sashimi. 

What remained of Donald’s blood ran cold, and the pain of betrayal spurred him into action. His body was dying; there was no way he would make it, and his tiny little brain had accepted it. But he would not die without doing the most he could. 

Joe tried to swat him off, but Joe didn’t really care anymore. He was in his Robot Mode. He had won, anyway, it didn’t matter. He moved lazily to defend himself, when: Donald wrenched Joe’s pants off, and reached needily for his own shriveled cock. 

Joe almost laughed; Donald’s silly Willy was a mere 2 inches in length, with the appearance of a dehydrated slug. Meanwhile, Joe’s dick was a grand 15 inches in size, healthy and smooth like a good American cock. It was surrounded by a shock of white fur for pubes. He was rather proud of it. Grew it himself and all, just now in fact. 

“What are you trying to do, Donald Dearest?” Joe chuckled humorlessly, watching Donald’s last moments as he tried to pry Joe’s butthole open. 

“Fuck you, Joe, fuck you for everything you did. You betrayed me,” Donald screamed shrilly, trying to fuck Joe. There was a silence, and Donald’s massive body fell to the floor in a thump. His little cock wilted with the rest of his body, soaking up the blood from the ground. 

Joe had won, betraying Donald’s trust. He stared once again at the moon painting, and began to howl a song of victory for America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prob gon be one more chapter, sorry the ending got weird and rushed I'm tired of this hahahaah I can't stand myself


End file.
